The Thought-Reading Exhibition had aroused great interest. A number of our fellow prisoners wanted Hill to give them lessons, but most of them fought shy of the three days’ starvation which was the necessary preliminary. A few—amongst them some of our best friends in camp—offered to undergo the fast, and Hill had all his work cut out to persuade them not to. He finally resorted to the plea that he could not undertake more than one pupil at a time. The exhibition had one good result. Hearing Hill explain that my progress in telepathy was being hampered by lack of privacy, Doc. O’Farrell placed his Dispensary at our disposal for our experiments. As a quid pro quo we promised that he should be taken on as the next pupil as soon as my education was completed.

The Dispensary was a tiny room over the Majors’ wood-store. It was exactly the place we needed. Here we could meet without fear of interruption. Everybody knew we were studying the problems of telepathy, which was a sufficient explanation of our constant hobnobbing, both for the Turks and for our fellow-prisoners. So nobody suspected us of plotting to escape, as they would infallibly have done had there been no ready-made reason assignable for our conferences. Here, then, we discussed our plans, and here the Pimple came from time to time to get the benefit of our discussions in the form of oracular utterances by the Spook.

The policy pursued by Hill and myself throughout our long campaign against the Turk was always to concentrate on the obstacle immediately ahead, and while taking every reasonable precaution about the future, not to trouble about it overmuch until we had crossed the nearest fence and seen what lay on the other side. In pursuance of our object not to implicate the others, we decided that the first thing to be done was to get moved out of the camp. But the flitting must be so arranged that the camp would not suspect we ourselves had planned it, while the Commandant, on the other hand, must be equally convinced that we had no other motive than to find the treasure. We felt that escape from separate confinement outside the camp would make it difficult for the Commandant to charge our comrades with complicity, and at the same time it would make it easier for us to devote our whole energies to getting a strangle-hold on Kiazim Bey. The danger of discovery would be lessened by more than half; for we stood in greater fear of the detective abilities of our fellow-prisoners than of those of the Turk. Discovery by either would have meant our being stopped.^[14]

While reconnoitring the ground up to this obstacle—and we did so very carefully—it struck us that there was no reason why the move itself should not be so engineered as to become the direct cause of our release by the Turks. Johnny Turk is a queer mixture of brutality and chivalry. It was quite on the cards that if we could get the Commandant to commit a glaring faux pas at our expense, and if we could at the same time get the British or neutral authorities to represent the matter to Constantinople, the Turkish War Office might compensate us by granting us a compassionate release. Indeed, such a release had already been granted to an officer named Fitzgerald who had been wrongfully thrown into prison early in the War. So it was not entirely a castle in Spain that we were building.

We decided to induce Kiazim Bey to sentence us to a term of imprisonment, under conditions as harsh as we could get him to impose. There was little chance, however, that he would so sentence us wrongfully; he stood in too great a fear of his own War Office to do that. But perhaps we might succeed in getting him to do so on a charge which to everyone but himself was manifestly and on the face of it absurd. If there is one thing the Young Turk desires it is to be regarded by Europe as civilized, and if there is one thing he fears it is the ridicule of civilization. If we could arrange something, the publication of which would render him a laughing-stock in the eyes of Europeans, the Young Turk Government at Constantinople would gladly either cut our throats to ensure our silence, or grant us a compassionate release to prove that they had the civilized standpoint and to throw the blame on the local subordinate. We thought it was about an even chance which course they would pursue, but decided that the risk was worth while.

Our talks were long and earnest. We examined and rejected scores of possibilities. And we finally decided, first, to aim at being “jugged” without cause or trial; or, failing that, to get ourselves sentenced to imprisonment, after a public trial, on a charge of obtaining War news by telepathic communications. I knew I could beat the Turkish censor and get details of the charge and sentence to England, and if this charge was not absurd enough to galvanize our War Office or the Dutch Embassy into protest, we would give up all hope of outside assistance bringing us our compassionate release, and rely, as Mr. Smiles advises good boys to do, on Self-Help.

It took exactly a month to achieve our aim. The first “Dispensary SÉance” was held on February 6th, 1918. On March 6th, on the charge of obtaining and sending military information by means of telepathy, Hill and I were arrested, tried in the presence of brother officers, and condemned to solitary confinement until the end of the War.

The genius that brought about this desirable state of affairs was the Spook. A verbatim report of every question and answer set to, and given by, our spirit-guide between February 6th and the date we left Yozgad is before me as I write. It is a transcript of the records carefully kept by the Pimple, who had read Raymond (a copy reached our camp just about this time), and by our advice modelled his attitude on that of Sir Oliver Lodge. Indeed, except in the matter of fame, the two had something in common, for in civil life the Pimple also called himself a Professor. So, thanks to his industry and “scientific methods” of research, it is possible to give an accurate summary of the doings and sayings of our “Control,” and where necessary to quote its exact words. For the historian the scientific method has much to commend itself.

Our Spook began by greeting Hill with every symptom of friendliness. The glass did not exactly “caress” him—we had not yet reached such advanced proficiency—but it spelled out its delight at the meeting, and it ignored the Pimple. It went on to warn us we were making an improper use of the Ouija. It was wrong to seek gain, wrong and dangerous, especially for “dear C.W.H.” Under the best possible conditions the discovery of the treasure would take a long time, possibly many months. And the present conditions were hopeless.

“You must live together,” said the Spook to Hill and myself, “so that your two minds become as one mind and your thoughts are one thought. Also it is most necessary that it be all kept profoundly secret. Above all you must be free from other thought influences; ... the other prisoners unconsciously project their thoughts between you, thus preventing unity. You ought to be removed elsewhere. Even prison would be better for you than this. It would be easier to communicate if you were alone. In one or two months you could attain more rapid methods, such as direct speech, but it is hopeless without privacy and peaceful surroundings. Remember I, too, have immense difficulties on this side. Ask them” (i.e., the Commandant and the Pimple) “either to give up all hope of my help in finding the treasure, or do what I say and remove you.” And It again suggested we should be clapped into prison.

Then MoÏse dropped into French, which he imagined neither Hill nor I understood.

“Remove? DÉmÉnager pour de bon, or go for a sitting?”

“Pour de bon, mon ami,” the Spook replied. “C’est absolument nÉcessaire.” He added that it was necessary in order that the mediums “might get into tune.” Without being “in tune” they could not find the treasure.

This was enough for one sitting, so the “force began to go,” as the Spiritualists put it, and the Pimple found himself confronted with the delicate task of breaking the news to the mediums. It must be borne in mind that, as is usual with all mediums of any standing, Hill and I were always “absolutely ignorant” of what had been said by the Spook until the Pimple saw fit to read it out to us. At times it was a matter of no little difficulty to avoid displaying our knowledge of what had occurred. When, for example, the Pimple had omitted a negative, or in some other simple way altered the whole tenor of the Spook’s order, it was extremely tempting to correct him. But that would have been fatal. We learned to endure his mistakes in silence.

The Pimple told us, very gently and very sympathetically, that the Control wanted to put us in prison. Hill and I were, of course, suitably horror-stricken—but we gradually allowed ourselves to be persuaded to endure even prison if necessary. For we admitted that there seemed to be no other way of finding the treasure, and that I was pledged to the Commandant to do my best. Besides, Hill let out casually, he had had one experience in Australia of thwarting a Spook’s wishes, and not for all the wealth of the Indies would he risk such a thing again. MoÏse naturally asked what the experience was, but Hill could only cover his face with his hands and shudder. It was TOO DREADFUL to be told.

So insistent had been the Pimple in persuading us to adopt the Spook’s plan that we thought we had won our point in the first round. But we had reckoned without the Commandant. It has already been indicated that we knew nothing of that gentleman’s real character. He revealed it now. An autocrat and a tyrant to all under his sway, he was the most abject slave of his own superiors. The post of Commandant in a Prisoner of War Camp was highly coveted, hard to obtain, and correspondingly easy to lose. To lose it might mean having to face the music at the front. Bimbashi Kiazim Bey did not want that. So next day the Pimple explained to us with tears in his eyes that the Commandant would not, on any account, risk his position by putting us into prison without cause. He feared a reprimand from Constantinople.

We replied that it must be prison or nothing, for who were we to improve upon the suggestions of our Control? No, we certainly would not assault a sentry or do anything that would justify our conviction. That was not a fair proposition to us. But we would go to jail, without any fuss, if he cared to send us.

Thus we struggled with the Pimple for eleven days, but in the end saw it was hopeless. The Commandant would forego the treasure rather than risk anything. He had not yet acquired the faith in us which made him, later on, snap his fingers at his own War Office. The furthest he was willing to go was to re-open what was known as “the Colonels’ House,” a building, now empty, which had formerly formed part of the camp. Hill and I could then go and stay there. But if other prisoners also wanted to go, the Commandant would not prevent them, as it would look suspicious. He must not show favouritism as it would get him into trouble!

The Cook and the Pimple danced with rage—especially the Cook—over their superior’s pusillanimity. But there it was. To tell the truth, Hill and I were equally disgusted. We wanted prison. We wished heartily that the Cook was our Commandant! But we pretended to be grateful to Kiazim Bey for taking up such a bold stand against carrying out the Spook’s wishes. We told the Pimple that we ourselves would never have dared to do so, knowing, as we did, the Power of the Control. We sent him our thanks, and as he had incurred so much danger on our behalf, to save us from the vileness of a Turkish jail, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded to undergo a little danger for him. We would hold one more sÉance and put to the Spook his suggestion about the re-opening of the Colonels’ House.

The sÉance was held in the Dispensary on the 17th of February. Hill and I had made our preparations with considerable care.

The Spook repeated its suggestion of prison. MoÏse explained that it was impossible, and suggested the Colonels’ House, at the same time pointing out that other prisoners might want to go there and that we saw no way of preventing them.

On the Raymond model, the next part of the sÉance is quoted verbatim from our records.

This is what the Pimple read out, written in a good feminine hand:—

The Spook went on writing. MoÏse, who was recording the letters touched by the glass, suddenly gave an exclamation of surprise.

“The Spook says this is all true,” he said to us. “It says this letter is word for word the same as one which has actually been sent.”

Hill and I simulated great agitation.

“I know it is true,” I replied; “that is why we wanted to withdraw!”

“But I thought this letter was merely an invention of the Spook,” said MoÏse.

“I wish it was,” I said, “for he has given away what we had intended to keep as a deep secret, as it involves others.”

“Jones and I got that telepathic message about the Caucasus troops last night,” said Hill.

“This becomes very serious and very complicated,” said the Pimple.

“I know it does,” I said. “Haven’t I tried to withdraw? But the Spook threatens us, and we can’t! What are we to do?”

“If MoÏse will keep quiet about what we have said,” Hill suggested, “perhaps the Commandant will still think it all an invention of the Spook’s.”

“Could you delete from your record that last sentence where the Spook says it is all true?” I asked.

“Yes,” said MoÏse, and drew his pencil lightly through it.

“And you promise not to tell the Commandant we have really been working this telepathy business with somebody outside the camp, won’t you? We fear he will be seriously angry and really punish us. If it wasn’t for the Spook’s threats we would stop now!”

The Pimple soothed our fears, gave us his promise—and broke it (as we hoped he would) as soon as the sÉance was ended.

All this was not merely gratuitous by-play. We were making a strong bid to capture the Commandant’s full belief, and every step in the sÉance had been carefully planned beforehand. The manner in which the magic letter was written, in broad daylight and on a piece of paper selected by MoÏse himself, seemed of itself something of a miracle. It was quite enough to impress the Commandant with the belief that he was up against supernatural forces. (Of course it really was nothing more than an extremely fine specimen of Hill’s sleight-of-hand. So deft were his movements that even I, who knew what to expect, had missed seeing the actual substitution of the prepared letter for MoÏse’s blank paper, which had been “forced” on him, watermark and all, much as one “forces” the choice of a card.)

Then the matter of the magic letter, if true, was of extreme importance to the Commandant, for it indicated that amongst his prisoners of war were two mediums capable of sending and receiving messages of military importance. Our agitation, our attempt at withdrawal, our confession to the Pimple and our request that he should hide from the Commandant the fact that the contents were really true—all these were certain to be reported to Kiazim Bey, and we hoped that our anxiety for him to consider the contents of the letter as pure spiritistic fiction would have exactly the opposite effect.

Once he believed the contents of the letter were true, he must necessarily conclude that Hill and I were the tools of the mysterious agency which had written it and not vice versa. So we pretended It had given away a secret which we had wished to be kept hidden, and which endangered our safety. The central idea on which our whole plan pivoted, and on which not only our success but our very safety would depend, was that we were mere mouthpieces of the Spook, unconscious of what was being said through us and quite incapable of altering or adding to it of our own will. The Commandant must learn to treat us as impersonally as he would treat a telephone on his office table.

After the interlude of the confession, the Pimple asked the Spook to explain what was to be done with this mysterious letter, and how it was going to attain for us the seclusion necessary for “our thoughts to become one thought, and our minds one mind.”

The Spook gave full instructions. It pointed out that the letter referred to two mediums who had received a telepathic message. It reminded the Turks that Hill and I had recently given a public exhibition of telepathy. We were known as telepathists to the whole camp, and there were no others. Therefore we two must be the mediums indicated. And it informed them that the camp believed in our powers as thought-readers and thought-transmitters, and would admit that belief if properly taxed with it, thereby justifying the Commandant in sentencing us to solitary confinement.

The obvious course was, therefore, for the Commandant to set about obtaining this admission of belief, without the camp knowing beforehand the purpose for which he required it. The Spook advised him to set a trap, and showed him how to do it. He should say he was interested in telepathy, and having heard of the recent exhibition, he would like to talk over the matter with the two principals and with any other officers who cared to come. The Spook suggested that the Doctor in particular, as a “man of science,” should be invited. Having got the company into the office, the Commandant would question them as to the possibility of telepathy. He would find that they all considered it perfectly possible, and that they regarded Jones and Hill as exponents of the new science. On the strength of this confession of faith he could produce the Spook letter and ask of Jones and Hill if the telepathic message therein referred to had been received by them. They would admit having received it. He would then demand the names of their confederates, which they would refuse. He could then formally charge them with being in telepathic communication on military matters with persons outside, and as their fellow-officers had already given evidence that Jones and Hill could send and receive thoughts, he could convict and sentence them without any fear of local disapprobation or of unpleasant consequences from Constantinople. “If you do not carry out the plan,” said the Spook in conclusion, “there will be trouble.”

“As a matter of fact,” the Pimple said, buttoning the record of the sÉance inside his coat, “you and Hill can be honestly tried for obtaining this war news. You have been doing it, so the Spook is not telling lies.”

“But don’t tell the Commandant that,” I begged.

“You are again doing as in Kut,” said MoÏse knowingly.

“As in Kut?” I was genuinely at a loss for the moment.

“Yes! When Townshend employed you to read the minds of our Turkish generals,” said MoÏse, resurrecting Freak’s lie of six months before.

“The devil!” I exclaimed. “Who told you that?”

The Pimple looked very proud of himself. “Never mind,” he said. “I, too, know things.”

“I wish I was out of this,” Hill said. “It is too dangerous. I would like to withdraw from the whole business.”

The Pimple laughed at him. “But you dare not, you fear too much the Spook!”